


In His Footsteps

by Lassarina



Series: Lucis Ante Terminum [1]
Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is time for Kain and Cecil to choose their paths in Baron's military, and Kain has always known exactly what he will choose.  The cost is immaterial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithrigil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/gifts).



"Have we done anything recently to get us into trouble?"

Kain looked up at Cecil, who was propped against a tree and brooding. He ran a quick mental inventory of their recent misdeeds and adventures and shrugged. "No more than usual, unless Jared has decided to whine about his 'injuries' from last week."

Cecil shook his head. "Then he'd have to admit to starting a fight in school."

"He should have known better, especially two against one." Kain resumed putting the finishing touches on a figurine of a Dragoon in full armour he was carving from a block of butternut wood. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

"The King requests our presence after dinner this evening," Cecil replied.

Kain devoted a great deal of attention to detailing the scales around the eye-holes in the dragon helmet. "And you don't know why?"

"I don't know." Cecil sighed. "We're old enough for the military now, though, or we will be in the fall. Maybe that's it."

Kain tilted his head back and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the fitful summer breeze on his face. A few strands of blonde hair tickled his nose and he pushed them back. "What path will you choose?"

Cecil shrugged. "I don't care what I end up doing, as long as I get to serve on the Red Wings before my ten years are up."

"That's no attitude for the King's heir to have. You're supposed to be decisive and commanding." Kain affected the stilted, pompous tones of their tutor and wagged a finger at Cecil.

Cecil threw a green apple at him, which bounced harmlessly off Kain's shoulder. "Shut up. I hear that often enough from him, I don't need it from you."

"As Your Highness commands." Kain offered a mocking bow without getting up.

Cecil pitched another apple at him, but his aim wasn't as good this time. The fruit thudded into the ground behind Kain. "What are you going to do? Red Wings?"

Kain shook his head.

"What? But you love high places." Cecil left off supporting the tree and sat down next to Kain.

"I know. I'm applying to the Dragoons." Kain turned the figurine in his hand, examining the proportions. With the tip of his knife, he began carving the joints of the armour. "Like my father did."

"The King wants us both to join the Dark Knights." Cecil leaned over to inspect the carving. "Nice job on the helmet."

Kain traced the edge of a gauntlet. "The Dark Knights aren't for me. I've always been better with the spear than the sword, anyway."

"But the Dragoons?" Cecil lay back and stared up at the sky. "They're the toughest group in the military. Also not in favour with the King right now."

"The King has always said we are free to choose our own paths, provided those paths do not include begging in the city streets or something equally detrimental to his dignity." Kain sheathed his knife and set the wood aside. "The Dragoons are as much a symbol of Baron as the Red Wings."

"Don't you fear that the Dragoons would become obsolete if the Red Wings continue to advance?" Cecil asked.

"No, I don't. Baron will always have need of men of honour to serve in the Dragoons." The breeze had a faint, chill edge to it now, and gusted fitfully, carrying the electric scent of a pending storm. Kain saw dark clouds gathering to the west and quashed the urge to remain here and face the full fury of the storm without the protection of castle walls. "We should go. It's going to storm, and the King will worry."

"Race you back." Cecil sprang up and headed for the tree where they had tied their chocobos. Kain stowed his carving in his belt pouch and mounted his bird. Cecil untied both chocobos and swung into his saddle. "Ready?"

Kain spurred his chocobo rather than answering, and they raced across the pastures, past several groups of startled sheep, toward the castle.

They barely beat the storm back to castle walls. The first fat drops of rain were splattering the dusty cobbles of the courtyard when they left the chocobos with the stable master and ran for the western tower. Kain pushed open the door, but a fierce gust of wind snatched it from him and slammed it open. He heard a loud thud and a pained cry.

"Damn," Cecil muttered, helping Kain wrestle the door into submission. "Don't look now," he added in an undertone, "but you've just sent Lord Vyran sprawling."

Kain leaned his shoulder into the door and forced it closed. He spent several moments longer than strictly necessary checking to ensure the latch had clicked. Behind him, he heard several loud grunts and the rustling of fabric as Lord Vyran heaved his considerable bulk upright.

"Kain," Cecil said.

Kain suppressed a sigh and turned to face Lord Vyran, who was quite red in the face and even more puffed up than usual.

"This is not appropriate behaviour for the King's heirs, Lord Cecil," he stated.

"Surely even the King's heirs cannot be expected to control the wind, Lord Vyran?" Kain's tone was all innocence. He felt Cecil's boot making solid contact with his ankle and resolved to retaliate at dinner.

"Do not interrupt when you are not the one being addressed!" Lord Vyran's eyes bulged nigh fit to pop from his head.

Kain gritted his teeth and reminded himself that he and Cecil were obligated to be at least vaguely courteous to Lord Vyran.

"We apologize, Lord Vyran," Cecil interjected. "The wind pulled the door from my grasp. As you can see, the weather has grown quite tempestuous."

Kain thought it particularly obliging of the storm to rattle the walls with a thunderclap as Cecil finished speaking.

"I would expect you to behave with more decorum," Lord Vyran replied, dabbing at his mouth with a scented handkerchief. Kain wrinkled his nose as a slight draft wafted the overpowering scent of lilacs to them.

"We will endeavour to do so in the future." Cecil offered a half-bow. "If you will excuse us, please, Lord Vyran, we do need to make ourselves presentable for supper."

Lord Vyran scowled but waved his hand in dismissal, scenting the air with lilacs once again. Kain made a very perfunctory bow and followed Cecil up the tower stairs.

"Pfaugh," he muttered as soon as the door closed behind them. "Why do we have to put up with him again?"

"Because having various and sundry nobles as our 'tutors' is the concession the King had to make in order to have us as his heirs instead of begetting one of his own. It's House Vyran's turn." Cecil sprawled across the nearest convenient couch, dislodging the grey cat that had been napping there. The cat raced across the floor and leapt at Kain's chest, confident of being caught.

Kain tucked the cat into the curve of one arm and petted it with his free hand. "It had to be him?"

"You'd prefer one we can't avoid with minimal effort?" Cecil shrugged. "At least he'll be gone at the end of the year."

"And another idiot will take his place." Kain went to the window and peered out at the storm. Gusts of wind whipped the rain in all directions. He longed to be out in the storm, but they had relatively little time left before supper. "Do we want to appear for supper properly groomed like good young men of noble blood, or as we are?"

Cecil sighed. "If we don't at least pretend to make an effort, we'll have an hour's lecture on it tomorrow."

"This is most certainly a thing to be avoided." The cat began to wriggle, so Kain set it down. It leapt up to the windowsill and began chasing raindrops through the glass. "I suppose we'd better be presentable, then."

~*~

It was eerily silent in the antechamber. The storm's fury had abated an hour earlier, leaving them without the sound of the howling wind, and the guards at the throne room door neither spoke nor moved. Kain forced himself to stand still and keep his gaze straight ahead. Cecil was making an effort to do the same, but Kain could hear his near-brother's garments rustle as Cecil attempted to find the most comfortable stance. They had been waiting for half an hour, the King having summoned them to the antechamber immediately after dinner, and the enforced idleness was taking its toll. Kain's stock of silent diversions was almost depleted. All save one, and that one best not indulged in; such thoughts about a girl so obviously in love with someone else (and that someone else his near-brother at that) would end ill for all concerned.

The door to the throne room opened and Baigan beckoned. "Lord Cecil, the King will hold audience with you."

Cecil swallowed hard and followed Baigan into the throne room. The doors shut firmly behind them. A show of impatience was hardly becoming of one who hoped to join the most elite corps in Baron's army, so Kain held himself still and counted the iron nails that held the throne room door together once, twice, thrice more. When the monotony of that exercise grew too much to bear, he began mentally reciting the list of Captains of the Dragon Knights, starting with the current Captain and moving backwards through Baron's history. He had named thirty-five captains and was beginning to list those who had served in the Baron-Damcyan War when Cecil walked out of the throne room, grinning fit to crack his face. Baigan followed three steps behind the presumed heir to the throne and beckoned to Kain. "Lord Kain, the King will hold audience with you."

Kain took a deep breath to steel himself and followed Baigan into the throne room. The King was seated on his throne, with his highest military officers arranged in a neat row three steps below the dais. Baigan took up a position at the far end of the line to Kain's right. Kain bowed politely to the King and studied the men arranged in front of him.

At the far left was Captain Alan Marek, heir to the noble house of Marek and commander of Baron's Dark Knights. Next to him stood Captain Robert Nerthic of the Dragon Knights, and then General William Farrell, who commanded Baron's regular army. Admiral Lloyd Vyran, whose position was a sinecure since Baron's navy consisted of five badly-maintained warships and the King's yacht, was studying the pattern in the carpet; no one really expected Kain or Cecil to choose the navy, and the Admiral's presence was mere formality. Last in line was Baigan, Captain of the Castle Guard.

It was easy to deduce the King's preference by the order he had arranged his military commanders. From the irritated glances General Farrell was casting at Captain Nerthic, the army commander obviously thought he merited a higher rank in the line, but the Dragon Knights were Baron's oldest military tradition. The King might favour the Dark Knights, but Kain had wanted to be a Dragoon since he was old enough to understand what that meant.

"Kain Highwind." King Odin's expression was somber. "In two months' time, you will turn sixteen. It is traditional for the youth of Baron--even scions of the royal line--to serve in the military before settling into their careers."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Kain said when the King seemed to be awaiting a response.

Admiral Vyran sneezed and made a production of fishing in his pockets for his handkerchief. General Farrell very nearly rolled his eyes. Captain Nerthic kept a straight face. Captain Marek was studying Kain with a faint scowl that made his pinched, narrow face look even more so. He wore his black hair cut far shorter than most Baronian nobility or even the military, and his scalp shone through in pale patches.

"Service in the military is, of course, your option, but it would please us if you were to consider it."

It had been so long since King Odin had used the royal "we" when addressing Kain that it took him rather aback. "I would be pleased to serve Baron in any capacity, Your Majesty."

"Very well. As a member of the royal house, you have the privilege of choosing where you will serve, provided the commander finds you acceptable." Kain could have laughed; no one, except perhaps the Dragoons, would even consider turning aside an applicant under the King's direct protection.

"We trust that you will choose the path best suited to your strengths and Baron's needs," the King continued, and looked quite deliberately in the direction of Captain Marek, who tilted his head a tiny bit in acknowledgement.

Though his mind had been made up his entire life, Kain hesitated a moment before speaking his choice. He had always wanted to join the Dragoons, but he did not wish to disappoint King Odin, who had taken him in and raised him like one of his own blood. Still, Kain had some memories of his father, and whenever he thought of himself in the future, he saw himself in dragon armour, following in his father's footsteps as a champion of justice and honour.

"Your Majesty, if it pleases you, I wish to enlist with the Dragon Knights." He bowed and braced himself.

Captain Marek made an abruptly stifled sound of disapproval. Admiral Vyran actually laughed out loud. Baigan raised an eyebrow. General Farrell and Captain Nerthic remained impassive.

The King seemed somewhat taken aback. "Your choice is, of course, your own, Kain. Yet it would please us very much if you were to take up the dark sword."

"Your Majesty, you have always taught me that I must follow the path I believe to be the right one, provided that it is an honourable and just path. I can think of nothing more honourable than following in my father's footsteps and serving as a Dragon Knight." Kain bowed once more.

"Captain Nerthic, does this applicant meet with your approval?" King Odin asked.

"He does, Your Majesty."

"Let it be done. After the Harvest Festival, you will begin training with the Dragoons."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Kain didn't quite sigh in relief, but it was a near thing. He had been dreading the thought that the King might command him to take up the dark sword.

The King rose from his throne and descended the steps that led from the dais. "Come, Kain, let us celebrate your new path with your brother," he said.

Kain followed the King into the antechamber, where Cecil was pacing back and forth. Cecil fell into step with them easily as they made their way to the King's chambers, where the King had already arranged for a flask of Mysidian pear brandy to be waiting for them.

"To new paths, and the young men you will become," the King said, raising his glass of brandy.

Kain and Cecil echoed the toast. Kain sipped very slowly, feeling the brandy burn its way down his throat; Cecil took too large a sip and half-choked, coughing violently. The King clapped him firmly on the back. "Take it easy, there, son," he said. "No need to have it all in one gulp."

They stayed in the King's tower for another hour, sipping at glasses of brandy and talking about what they would do once they joined the military. Kain could not help but notice that the King was paying far more heed to Cecil's words than his, and that Cecil got the lion's share of the King's approval. He slumped in his chair and consumed more of the brandy than was wise, since the King did not appear to be monitoring the contents of his glass.

He'd known his choice would disappoint the King, and he had always known that it was Cecil and not he who would inherit Baron, but the Dragoons were a good and honourable choice, and he shouldn't have been punished for wanting to keep this small piece of his father. In all else, he was the King's son, in spirit if not in blood. He had wanted this one piece, this one fragment of Alaric Highwind, to keep by him.

A light tap sounded at the door, and then it opened to reveal a man garbed in a dark cloak. "Your Majesty, please pardon the intrusion." The man bowed. "You had requested my presence?"

"Yes, thank you." The King rose and smiled at Cecil and Kain. "You lads had best get some rest, and I've work to do."

Kain rose to his feet and grabbed at the arm of his chair as the room wobbled in a most unaccustomed way.

"Are you all right, Kain? How much of this did you drink, exactly?" the King asked. He lifted the flask and tilted it back and forth. There was very little brandy left. "Well." King Odin sighed. "I think perhaps I should have been keeping a closer eye on you."

"I'm fine." His tongue stubbornly refused to cooperate, mangling the syllables, and King Odin's face seemed to divide and reform when he tried to focus on it. "I just need to sleep."

"I'll have a guard escort you back to your tower," King Odin stated.

"I can get back there myself," Kain protested.

"It's all right," Cecil said. "I'll help him."

King Odin looked dubious, but let them go. Cecil put a companionable arm around Kain's shoulder as they descended the stairs from the King's chambers. This only exacerbated the stairs' alarming new tendency to tilt at odd angles. Somehow they made it to the bottom of the stairs without undue mishap. The courtyard presented further challenges, having developed a new geography of hillocks and tiny valleys that made navigation difficult. Moreover, the storm had renewed its wrath and the wind howled around the castle walls, driving needle-like rain into their faces.

"This weather is hardly auspicious," Cecil remarked as they wobbled across the courtyard.

Kain tripped on an improperly placed stone that turned out to be his boot, and only Cecil's quick reaction spared him an ignominious fall. Kain glared at the offending footwear before answering his near-brother. "Maybe it's because you chose the dark sword."

"Kain!" Cecil halted in the middle of the courtyard. "How can you say that?"

"I say it because it's true. The King's throwing the Dragoons by the wayside in favour of these new Dark Knights." Kain gestured broadly and almost overbalanced. Cecil steadied him again and began steering him toward their tower, despite the scowl that warned of an imminent brawl. "The Dragoons have been here longer than this castle, and if I want to serve with them, I damn well will!"

"No one's saying you aren't," Cecil said. "Come on, let's go inside. We're getting soaked." He tugged at Kain's arm, pulling him toward the tower where they resided.

"I hope Lord Wobble-Gut isn't there," Kain grumbled as Cecil wrestled with the door.

Lord Vyran was, unfortunately, seated just inside the entrance to their tower. "Where have you two been?" he demanded, heaving himself to his feat.

"What business of yours is it?" Kain retorted.

"With an attitude like that, it's no wonder the King passed over you for him!" Lord Vyran's chins wobbled as he attempted to set himself into an intimidating posture. "You've hardly the brains to bother with anyway--"

He broke off with a squawk as Kain lunged at him, arm raised to smash a fist into his face. Cecil grabbed Kain's arm and spun him away, which made the room tilt alarmingly. "Kain! This is hardly behaviour fitting of a Dragon Knight!"

Kain struggled against Cecil's grip, without much success. "What does he know? His family's a bunch of lardbucket slugs who sit around getting fat off pointless positions!"

"I'm surprised the King tolerates your presence, you ill-mannered dunce." Lord Vyran smoothed down his velvet surcoat slowly, as though to demonstrate that Kain's ill-mannered presence discomfited him not at all.

"Say that again when I've a weapon in my hand. Or do you send your peasants to duel for you as well as do your work?" Kain pulled his arm free of Cecil's grip.

"Kain." Cecil stood poised to get between Kain and Lord Vyran if violence should break out. Kain ignored him.

"Peasants haven't sufficient morals to stand upon the field of honour." Lord Vyran sniffed.

"Does that mean you intend to meet me yourself? I'm surprised you have the balls to consider it." The swirling, sick dizziness hadn't dissipated, but Kain knew that at his worst he was better than Lord Vyran at his best.

"Don't you disrespect me, boy!" Lord Vyran moved closer to Kain, his eyes bulging out. He halted abruptly. "Are you _drunk?"_

"So what if I am?" Kain took a half-step forward.

"The King gave us brandy to celebrate our selections for the military," Cecil said, stepping between them.

Lord Vyran's face flushed dark red, but he didn't say anything, choosing instead to waddle around Cecil and out into the storm.

Cecil sighed when the door closed behind him. "Come on, Kain. Let's get some sleep."

"I'm not ready to sleep yet." Kain headed for the stairs nonetheless.

"Where are you going, then?" Cecil asked.

"Up on the roof." Kain found that the height of the stair risers seemed uneven, and braced his hand against the wall as he climbed for balance.

"I don't really think that's a good idea in your present state," Cecil said, a few steps behind him.

Kain spun around on the stair, nearly lost his balance, and caught himself with a hand against the wall. "You're not my mother. Quit trying to fight my goddamn battles for me!"

"I'm not trying to fight your battles for you, I'm trying to keep you from doing something stupid that would result in you getting yourself killed!"

Kain made a noise of profound disgust and continued up the stairs. He bypassed his own chambers and Cecil's, continuing up to the roof.

The violence of the storm had not abated at all, and icy needles of rain peppered his face as he wrenched the door closed. The wind was shrieking and whipping around him, lashing his hair into his face and chilling him quite thoroughly. It seemed as though the storm had a personality and fury all its own, like claws raking across his skin. He might have sworn he heard a woman's voice in the wind, taunting him, and sometimes the lashing wind felt almost like a caress against his skin.

Bright bolts of lightning split the sky in half, much as he felt himself split. King Odin had taken him in when his mother died and had raised him as though he were the King's own flesh and blood. Though all of Baron assumed that Cecil would inherit the throne, the King had never made a distinction between the two of them. Rather, he had made no distinction until tonight, when Cecil, ever obedient to His Majesty's wishes, had chosen the dark sword and Kain had kept to his own path. Cecil got everything he wanted with little effort: the King's trust, Baron, Rosa...and Kain stood ever in his shadow, never in the light.

At last the bite of the wind--and the mocking laughter he was sure he heard in it--grew too sharp and he abandoned the roof for his own chambers. He was soaking wet and chilled to the bone, and it took nearly another hour of sitting wrapped in a blanket by the fireplace before he felt warm again.

Cecil had been waiting for him, and sat in silence while Kain dried off and warmed himself up. At last he spoke. "So?"

Kain shrugged. "So I'll be a Dragon Knight, and you will be the King's favoured son. Everyone will love you, and I will stay in your shadow. Nothing changes there."

Cecil hesitated. "Are you truly so angry with me?" he asked at last, sorrow in his tone.

"Not with you," Kain said. "With them."

"With the King?"

"No. Well, a little, for favouring the Dark Knights so over the Dragoons, but mostly with the nobles and their damn endless politicking and complaining and having to know which of us will be his official heir. Everyone already assumes that you are, but that doesn't stop them whispering and pointing fingers."

"Well, we'll just have to show them that we are both worthy of being the King's heirs." Cecil smiled faintly.

Kain smiled back, but it felt hollow and empty. "I think I need to sleep."

"Good night, then." Cecil stood up and went upstairs.

Kain went to bed, but it was a long time before he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the very first round of Final Fantasy Exchange for Mithrigil, who requested _Something clumsy with Kain as a youth, coming into his own, and how his view of the world grew so sour. I would love there to be a running motif of wind, as apropos of his name._


End file.
